


Granite Countertops

by yuwinnie



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-08 02:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20284441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuwinnie/pseuds/yuwinnie
Summary: Mark Lee will completely let Donghyuck ruin his life, if Donghyuck doesn’t ruin his own first.





	Granite Countertops

“when i’m older, i want to own one of those pretty farmhouses. one with a pretty kitchen, and a long granite countertop.” his eyes twinkle as he leans back and takes in the starry sky above us. he dramatically throws his hands back behind his head and lets his back flop against the roof. the thickness of his coats must have broken the fall, because he doesn’t flinch. 

he stares in content, his breath twirling in the stiff wintry wind. we’re 17 and reckless and the sting of the cold doesn’t bother us, even though donghyuck’s nose is turning red at the tip. he turns to me and i’m sure my cheeks are now red. “what do you want, lee?” 

he thinks it’s amusing that we have the same last name. it’s a popular last name, but his amusement is contagious. “i-“

i don’t know what i want. i think i want him, i know that for sure. i want a dog, like taeyong has. not one small like ruby though, i don’t want to carry a dog around in a bag the way johnny does. i want a bigger dog, like one of the ones considered manly. “want to be happy.” i decide.

i want to be like taeyong and johnny. they live in a cute like apartment with sleek furniture and drive a golf cart down to the pool in their community. on facebook, i see photos of their dog, ruby, with floaties on in the back seat. i want that.

“smoke weed, then.” he huffs like it’s funny, but he’s not joking. he scans me up and down. “you don’t seem like the type to.”

“you either.” it’s nice. he snorts. his shaggy caramel hair is held back by his beanie, his flannel poking out from the bottom of his black jacket. donghyuck is the stereotype of what not to be. i don’t care too much then. i doubt i’ll care much in the future.

“you’re cool, lee, i like you.” hyuck takes a joint from his black jean pocket and tucks it between his lips, snatching the lighter from its spot between it. surprisingly, for the cold night, it lights. 

“i like you too, donghyuck.” i mean it: i do like him. he’s cooler than me. he has been since we were in preschool and he had a dino book bag while my mom made me carry one of the ll bean ones with my name sewed in.

he looks over and smiles at me, and the winter night doesn’t seem so cold anymore.

+

“fuck a granite countertop.” he takes a drag of the cigarette and blow its out in my face. i try to not flinch. we’re twenty now and he’s not the tanned boy i fell in love with all those years ago, but a certain mischievous glint still shines in his eyes. “dreams don’t come true, lee.”

they do though. i’m about to graduate from college and he’s still here at home, doing lord knows what people still do in this dying town. we’ve caught national attention for the highest rates of drug overdoses and the highest rate of people leaving the state after graduation. i am one of the lucky ones.

“the thing about dreams is that you’re supposed to catch them, hyuck.” i emphasize. this year’s christmas party we’re inside, tucked beside a brick fireplace. hyuck has tried to light a joint on the flame a few times already. i took away his blunts and now have them tucked in the chest pocket of my quarter zip. “dreams don’t come instantly.”

“are you happy then, lee?” his hair is thinner than it was a few years ago, the caramel now a bleached blond color. his clothes are even more ragged and loose than before. the baby fat on his face has been replaced by a sharp jawline and deep holes underneath his eyes.

“yes.” i gulp. it’s a lie. i’m miserable in my infatuation for him and he probably knows it. there’s no such thing as having fun while throwing a pity party for myself constantly. i don’t know how true the rumors are. does hyuck do heavy drugs? does hyuck let those older boys use him just to get his fix? i cannot fall in love with anyone else when all i see is hyuck.

“bullshit, baby.” he leans forward and i think he’s going to kiss me, but he pulls back and he has one of his blunts back. “you don’t look like you’re happy.”

“what does that mean?”

hyuck motions to johnny and taeyong. it’s been five years- they have a small baby wrapped in their arms and they’re still shooting stars in the direction of one another. i don’t know johnny’s eye color from the constant state of squint of smile. i guess that’s what happiness looks like. i’m not that though, i’m mark.

“i talked to taeil about you.” taeil is the police chief. he’s short and sweet and has candy on his desk constantly. i had to go in when johnny and taeyong decided to get married in the court house. only here would the town’s druggie be friends with the police chief.

“and what’d he say?” i wonder if my voice peaks with interest. i hope it doesn’t, but i think it does because i’m not very good at pretending like i don’t care. which is why we’re here. with hyuck fucking lee of all people in the world, the crush of the decade. proof that i do in fact have feelings.

“he says you’re too good for us all. you’re going to get out of this town and find an averagely hot sorority girl and have averagely attractive bench warmers and be mildly content for the rest of your life far away from here.” hyuck doesn’t look at me, his interest is in the blunt in the palm of his hands, twirling it around.

“that’s not true.” it’s not. i’ve tried. time and time on end, and i constantly end up back here with hyuck instead of my own family at our own christmas party.

“ok, lee.” hyuck doesn’t want to have this argument, toying with the sleeve of his sweater like there’s something i’m not getting. he doesn’t get that i see. i saw when he showed up tripping off his ass two hours ago. i saw the way he rubbed his nose coming back from the bathroom in the past half hour. hyuck doesn’t get that i see it and that i still want him.

life is a confusing thing, and i guess dreams and hyuck are meant to be chased.

+

the call comes at 1:27 am, the following june. i’m not home, i haven’t been since college graduation. it’s the police chief, taeil moon. he sounds asleep, and in the background of the call i can hear the coffee machine stirring to life. “it’s hyuck.” 

in any other town, the call would have been private business. the call would have gone to the number of his dead mother. or the absent brother. but this isn’t any small town, and the call goes to me- the high school sweetheart who is probably the only person who gives a fuck.

hyuck isn’t warm when my plane touches down 12 hours later. he’s pale. skinny. dark circles curl under his sunken in eyes, and when he looks at me, no flash comes across his face. “hyuck.”

he doesn’t meet my eyes, but he takes my hand and lets me crawl into the bed with him. when he cries- wretched sobs of detox and of the release of the pain in his chest- i let him curl his head into my shoulder and escape.

i talk to talk. i talk about how boring life is and how much i miss him, i talk about granite countertops and farm houses and cats that would live with us. i tell him about taeyong and johnny and how their baby is doing. i talk about everything other than the pain in my chest. i don’t mention my anger at him. for almost leaving me.

+

“i had a kid.” he slurps the diet coke up with ease. it’s two days later, after the release from the hospital. the judge made him a compromise; if he went to rehab, all charges would be dropped. he’s letting me drive him after this waffle house visit, the chicken in front of him slips through his fingers while we wait for the second refill. “his name is jisung. he’s a month old, his moms in jail. he’s with his grandma.”

“what’s he like.”

“that’s a dumb question. he’s a baby. he doesn’t look like anyone, doesn’t act like anyone. he cries and shifts. i don’t do that.” he rolls his eyes and slams into another piece of chicken. he’s still skinny and pale, but the idea of rehab sends sparks of hope down my spine.

“what’s being dead like, then,” i don’t mean to be harsh. there’s only so much dancing around the issue i can do though, so much heartbreak and pain bubbling at my chest at every morning. just looking at him shatters me.

“better than this hell,”

+

“he’s going to ruin your life.” taeyong says over the phone when i call him, in tears, after leaving the rehab center. he’s known just as long as everyone about hyuck. he knows my feelings for him, my newfound dreams of white farm  
houses and gardens. 

“i think my life is ruined without him.” i sigh and run another hand through my hair. “at least with this i have the chance of a future with him.”

rehab means hyuck can return to hyuck. rehab means no more death scares. rehab means the idea of dreams returning.

+

we write in letters. cell phones aren’t allowed inside the building, and the internet is banned. he tells me he loves me in his own way over letters, and i send him newspaper cutouts of farm houses in response. it’s not perfect, but i think i feel the way taeyong must feel over johnny.

+

the house isn’t perfect. it’s a chipped grey color- the shutters are hanging from the door. the window on the first floor with glass shattered, shards splayed across the harsh, stained tile floor. the house, all in all, has two redeeming qualities: first, the big brick fireplace by the large windows, overlooking the pine trees. the second redeeming quality is the large, open space that is the kitchen. an old broken fridge sits in the corner, with odd smells drifting through the air when the realtor, doyoung, opens it. it’s not perfect, but hyuck’s eyes flicker over the large open space. he doesn’t have to spell it out.

the house isn’t perfect, but neither are we.

+

“i’m taking your last name, lee.” hyuck sits on the edge of our bed, a smile splayed across his face as he fiddles with the cuff sleeves of his suit. 

“love, we have the same last name.” i remind. “the only one with the new last name is jisungie.” the two year old isn’t even old enough to know his current last name. 

jisung still thinks my name is daddy and hyuck’s is daddy. it’s fitting. he’s small and blond and carries a duck plushie around. he spends his days in the garden with hyuck, knee deep in the soil while they plant carrots and pumpkins and sunflowers. 

the house is painted white, the white picket fence is in front of it now. there’s a long granite countertop with one of those fake fruit baskets right in the middle of it. i got my dog- put hyuck wouldn’t let me get any thing other than jisung, so here i am with a little hound. life isn’t perfect, but it’s pretty damn close.


End file.
